


Go Outside

by threewalls



Series: Paw-Pad Playmates [3]
Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Ageplay, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Furry, Omorashi, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-14
Updated: 2010-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:26:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doggies go outside, don't they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Outside

**Author's Note:**

> Written for kink_bingo 2010-11 square: furry/plushie kink.
> 
> A/N: Presea is 30+ in this story. Due to the events prior to ToS 1 that resulted in her growth being 'frozen' for 16 years, she appears to be around 15 years old. The story takes place roughly a year post-DotNW (ie ToS 2) setting. There are no major plot spoilers but possibly (ToS 1) character identity spoilers.

Regal can feel the softness of the grass through the fabric of his pawpads, the heat on his bare back. His fur stretches to the elastic circling above his elbows and around his waist. Presea wears a light sundress, hem just below her knees. Regal can see the shape of Presea's legs when she stands between himself and the sun.

Presea snaps the clasp of the leash to the collar binding Regal's neck. He follows where she leads.

 

The sky is blue and cloud-clear, and Regal cleared his schedule for the visit of a much beloved guest. They had a picnic on the Sky Terrace. Presea sat, with Regal's head in her lap. He licked chicken from her fingers, drank water she poured into a dish with his name enamelled across the rim. To drink, he stood on knees spread shoulder-width apart, and with his upper body angled down to rest on his bent elbows. His bottom raised, Regal was uncomfortably aware of his testicles pressing obviously in outline through his fur. He felt ridiculous and exposed and very, very good.

Regal looked up after licking the last droplets from the dish's surface. Presea stroked his hair, scratched behind the blue ears clipped to his head. And then she said: "I had an idea. Doggies go outside, don't they?"

Regal remembers starting, suddenly desperately aware of the plug stretching his anus, anchoring his tail to his body. It would be simple for Presea to loosen it and slide it free. She would have to spread the slit at the back of his trousers. Presea would have to be watching, oh, but if that was what she wanted of him, Regal could do it. He could squat, too large to be anything but awkward doing so, making a spectacle of himself.

"You would like to watch me... go," Regal said, swallowing hard.

"I want to feel your water. In my hand. I want to hold you when you go," Presea said, clear and concise in her requirements, as always. "Do you want to do that?" she asked.

"Yes." Regal stared down at his mitted hands, searching for words that he could bring himself to say. "Nothing... else?"

"Do you need something else?" Regal could hear the grin in her voice, a relief when he couldn't look her full in the face.

"No," he said. Regal had seen to himself before dressing, discretely, privately. He always felt play merited cleanliness, but wearing his tail made Regal particularly conscientious. He had never wanted to be caught short, needing to excuse himself from her presence for so obvious and impolite a purpose. The thought made him clench once more about the plug, wagging his tail. Presea laughed, and petted his bottom, so he did it again. Her touch always felt so good.

"Maybe next time. I think you would have to not go for twenty-four hours beforehand. To be ready."

The grass was cool on Regal's heated forehead. He couldn't believe Presea could say such things so easily. Presea was somehow never as embarrassed by their play as Regal was. For which Regal was grateful, though it was sometimes difficult to believe how lucky he was.

Presea continued: "I could bring a plastic bag when we have a picnic again. We shouldn't leave that for George to clean up."

Regal groaned, knowing that she teased but yet mortified by the thought of his personal assistant involved. Presea had spoken to George when she and Regal had begun their relationship, and come to some sort of understanding that meant that George now smiled when Regal asked him to rearrange his schedule or ask for a meal to be set for two. But George was also under strict orders not to disturb them for anything short of an emergency. Presea's hand stroked the long length of Regal's hair to his neck and shoulders, lingering in that way until he moved to raise his head. Regal trusted her to stand in front of him, if need be.

"You'll need to drink more water," she said. Presea's smile was impish.

"Yes. That would be a good idea." Regal pushed his heated face into her lap, while Presea refilled his water dish.

And then he had drunk, and drunk, and drunk.

 

Regal can still see the remains of their picnic lower in the garden. Presea is leading him further and further away from the elevator, and away from the toilets on lower levels of his building.

Regal has a new reason to grateful to be on his hands and knees, that both his paw-padded hands touch the grass to support his body weight and cannot be lifted to-- touch himself in an effort to ameliorate the building ache. Regal discovers himself swaying, shifting his weight from side to side. It helps, but not enough. Regal has no way to be discreet about his oncoming need. The pressure grows ever more acute with every shuffling step as he walks behind Presea, and with it, the growing colour of his face.

And so grows his distraction. All hope that his need would not be noticed vanishes when Regal's head pulls to the right, the tension taut in the leash at his throat.

"Stay." Presea walks back. Regal is transfixed. He could stand, but he does not. He could turn away, but he does not. He can almost feel liquid beading on the tip of his prick, a phantom sensation, surely. Regal tenses the muscles of his abdomen, clenches every other lower muscle he can feel.

Presea sinks to crouching beside him on the grass, her skirt pooling over bare legs. Regal is on his hands and knees; sitting, she will be only just able to see over his back. In five years, she will look half his age. But she probably won't stop wearing these dresses, nor stop tying her hair in bunched pigtails.

"What is it, doggie?"

Regal feels Presea stroke her knuckles low across his belly, each pass lower and lower, her fingers travelling down as though the waistband of his trousers did not exist. It is a tease and a promise, and a twisting, shameful ache inside to know that Presea knows exactly what he needs. He knew what drinking the sheer volume of water she poured for him earlier would mean, but not it would carry him into this scatter-thought, single-minded urgency.

"You were so thirsty before. You definitely need to go out here before you can go inside."

Regal barks. He has not yet found a way to do so that does not leave him feeling awkward, but at present he has no words. Presea cups the fingers of her hand against the swollen arc of his belly, stretched satiation becoming the ache of being overfull, a lower, liquid ache. Regal feels better and worse with her touch, soothed, hastened. He sways into her touch.

"Did you want pettings? Is that it?"

Regal whimpers. His belly aches, waves of gut-tensing sensation amplified by the awkwardness of not knowing what she can feel or how much his body reveals without his volition. He catches himself eyeing the grass under paw, but then remembers from the time they jumped into the reflecting pool that the fur of his trousers colours distinctly deeper when wet. He would be obvious immediately. Presea would feel it on her hand. Regal bites his lip. Doggie or no, he cannot bring himself to urinate in his clothes. At least, not until she asks-- or, perhaps, until it's too late.

Regal whines. He raises his head to look her full in the face. Presea bites her lips as well, her pupils blown wide and dark. To know how much she wants this gives him strength. Presea touches his face; Regal licks the salt of her skin.

"Oh, is that it? Does my doggie need some help?"

If he could speak, Regal would thank her. Later, he will thank her. Now, he tilts his hips, lifting one suddenly heavy leg. There are press-studs inside the crotch seam, easier for her small, blissfully quick fingers than his mitted paws. No underwear under Regal's furred trousers. Doggies don't wear underwear. Regal strives not to thrust over-eagerly into the touch of her hand.

"You're such a _big_ doggie, aren't you?"

Presea is a petite woman, and Regal is, has always been, embarrassed by his own size. He expected to frighten her, but he doesn't; Presea has only ever seemed fascinated. Of course she would want to hold him. If Regal had more presence of mind, more accessible clarity of thought, he would be able to recall every instance that Presea has touched him like this; he can't. Regal can barely focus on the grip of her hand on his penis, while her other hand kneads his abdomen. He does not fear embarrassing himself, he will, of course; he _is_. He does not yet know how, and he needs, he needs--

"Good doggie," Presea says. "Release."

The pain transforms to a hot rush of relief. Regal groans, shamefully loud, too lost to think of a less human, less needy sound to overlay the pouring torrent of his release. The spray hits his bare chest, splashing on his gloves and his trousers, shocking in the unexpected heat, and in the image of his debauchery which it conveys so vividly. If he can smell himself, so can she. She must be able to feel it, her hand slick with his urine. He glances back, to see her bending, her head angled to watch under him, to watch him.

"You're so well-trained. Such a good doggie. You only go right where you're supposed to."

Regal whimpers. His stream trembles and stutters before returning to flow. Lacking the edge of his urgency, he must now will his bladder to continue. He must choose this; he does.

It is almost too much, so completely giving way to indecency. The woman he loves is holding his penis while he urinates. If her grip were not firm, if her weight against his side did not demand he stand strong to support her-- Presea tells him what a good, good doggie he is for her, how strong and thick his stream, that this is what he had wanted-- and Regal's face burns, feeling his penis stiffen despite his better judgement, knowing his excuses for what they are.

"Now my doggie's getting even bigger!" Presea says. "Good doggie. _My_ doggie." And the rough texture of her voice travels straight through him.

But even will cannot counteract the constriction of a partial erection, or, thankfully, a lack of volume remaining in his bladder.

"Feeling better?" Presea asks.

Regal barks, feeling ridiculous and happy and ... relieved, which is a terrible pun. He wriggles his rump at her, wagging his tail, and look at his hands when he hears Presea giggle. Regal feels light.

"I want to save this for later," she says, giving his penis a shake.

Regal nods, face still flushed. He exhales as she lets go and his penis falls against the damp softness of his fur. Presea does not tuck him back within his trousers. Regal feels exposed, over-eager-- unsheathed.

Presea touches his face. Regal whines in his throat, licking eagerly between her fingers, the leather strap of the leash across her palm. She tastes bitter, the familiar taste of Regal's pre-come and a new note of something acrid. The smell is stronger on the grass below him, soaked through his fur.

"Are you thirsty again, doggie?"

Regal yips, hopeful, and again as Presea leans back, slides the hem of her skirt above her knees. No panties for her, either. She winds the leash around the palm of her hand, reeling him closer and closer until she can hook her fingers through his collar and pull him close. She smells deliciously fragrant, tastes spicy-sweet and so juicy on his tongue.

"Make me come," she tells him.

On the grass on the Sky Terrace, beneath the open sky, Presea lies with Regal's head in her lap, her hands tight in his hair, and he drinks.

\---  
MC  
14/7/10


End file.
